Zevran encounters Masque on the summoner’s pilgrimage
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-He's definitely not happy about the ice spells, but he's doing his best not to show it.

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Masque rises to their feet, calm, collected (ignoring the panic in their gut). They've faced death before with far less in their favour.

"You would interrupt a summoner's prayer to the fayth?"

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"He is not a-"

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Bahamut bursts out of the small door, roaring.

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Zveran steps out behind him, looking tired and furious.

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"Yevon above-" The priests scatter back, most looking in shock, some disgusted. 

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...Yup, Masque is cackling again. "You were about to apologise."

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"My lord summoner, our deepest apologies, we truly-"

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Zveran pulls Bahamut back with a tired sigh. "Do shut up."

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"We truly had no idea, please be aware that the guards who denied you will be punished-"

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"Sure they will."

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Masque contains their laughter, and shifts so they're stood at Zveran's shoulder, a definitely smirking, but still somewhat intimidating presence.

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"I don't want your apologies, or really anything from you, except to walk past you," Zveran says, dry as Home.

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The priest who was talking bows deeply. "We will not deny your passage." 

The priests step back and form a gap between them.

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Zveran wraps his hand around Masque's arm (it was taking a lot to remain standing, but he would not fall in front of them), and heads towards the door.

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Masque continues to be a steady presence, head tilted back in a surprisingly arrogant display.

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Aten floats after them.

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"Wait! Wait, before you go-"

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Zveran looks over his shoulder.

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"The...fire-being. It is an aeon?"

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Aten holds his form, barely, not quite flinching, but very close.

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Masque goes tense at Zveran's side, ready to do...something.

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"It is, isn't it? How are you sustaining it?"

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Zveran turns back around, and keeps moving. 

He holds out his hand to Aten.

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"Where- wait! Where is its fayth?"

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